Of the Heart
by God of Lies
Summary: A wrong never made right, a broken soul struggling to stay afloat, and a destiny, an identity long been denied. When fate moves two twisted pieces of the game together, secrets will out and a family might finally stand united. OC, though no pairings planned.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: Except for those created by God of Lies, all charters, plots, etc. belong to MARVEL and their respective copyright holders. This disclaimer applies to the fanfiction Of the Heart in its entirety, including all chapters and descriptions.

* * *

When stars are born are they cast out

to wander cold and lonely lost in space,

a loveless point of light that can't return,

forever fixed within one place?

When love is lost and dreams are cast

like bruised and battered pieces left to die,

when hands that reach out are betrayed

how can my tortured soul survive?

-Sail Me Away, Lestat

* * *

"_I took you in, raised you as my own, and all I asked for was loyalty. But you turned your back upon me and upon your duty and now not only your family, but the whole of Asgard suffers for your crimes!"_

_Odin stared at the figure chained before him._

"_I gave you my loyalty and my love. You betrayed me." Was whispered, but it went unheard in the sympathizing uproar at the king's statement._

"_You are hereby stripped of your titles and magic and will be cast out of Asgard."_

"_Father, no!"_

"_Let the histories be cleansed of this taint upon my house and upon our people."_

"_This is not right! This is not FAIR!"_

"_You have committed murder, you have committed treason, and maligned your family's name. My decision is just."_

_The Allfather's staff hit the floor with a ringing thud of finality and there was a rumble of approval from onlookers. A trio of guards marched to flank the prisoner._

"_Please…" The strangled, desperate plea knifed through Odin and, just for an instant, he slumped back into his throne as if he had suffered a physical blow. Then he straightened, stood and regally swept out of the room, never once looking back._

* * *

"You are confined to this ship, Loki Laufeyson. No trouble, no mischief, or I will send you straight back to Asgard. Are we clear?"

"Yes." Came the hissed reply.

The once-villain was sitting ramrod straight in his chair, leaning one forearm heavily against the glass conference table, fists clenched and knuckles white. Gone was the golden armor and snapping aura, replaced by a simple green tunic and black leather breeches. A deathly pallor clung to him like an ill-fitting robe and it was clear by the dimmed emerald of his eyes and the lankness of his raven hair that there was something terribly wrong.

Fury turned from the prince's glare and addressed Thor, "You're absolutely sure he has no magic?"

Thor, who had squeezed himself, armor and all, into the chair next to his brother's, shot the man in question a worried glance.

"Yes," he said quietly, "father has made sure that he can not do anything but maintain his…ah…appearance." He waved a hand at Loki's skin.

Fury grunted in acceptance, but remained standing over the two Asgardians pensively. Finally, he sighed, swept up a folder from a side table, and plopped it down in front of Loki so hard a few bits of tangled hair flew upwards.

"This is a general guideline for your time here. I suggest you read it." He tapped it once and then shoved it till it was almost touching the prince's arm. "Except for sleeping and bathing, you will have an escort with you at all times. Her name is Agent Doter. If I catch you even once without her, it's back to Asgard. If you attempt to hurt her, I will kill you myself."

This earned him an eye roll. The Director shook his head and turned to leave.

"Please do not complicate your time here, Loki. For your own sake." Was shot over his shoulder and then he was gone, the door swooshing silently closed.

The pair sat in tense silence for a few seconds and then Thor clamped a comforting hand on Loki's shoulder. "Brother…"

"_Don't…_" The hand was shaken off but at the sacrifice of balance. The shuddering prince collapsed forward, barely catching himself before he face planted on the tabletop.

"Please, brother, let me help. You are in such pain…"

"I have never been your brother, and I _never _will be. Leave me be, Odinson."

The God of Thunder reached out again, but paused and then let his hand slump back into his lap. His blonde mane swept forward as he bowed his head, hiding his pained expression. Thor had expected Loki's betrayal in Svartalfheim. There was even a point when they were battling against each other that he thought that he had lost his brother both mentally _and_ physically. So much had been lost – the honor of his people, the peace of his beloved home…his mother – that the last shred of hope he had once clung to for his brother was ready to slip through his fingers.

But Loki had proven himself. And in recompense Odin had given his wayward son the same opportunity as his brother – a chance to start fresh on Midgard. To learn a lesson that was still sorely needed. And Thor now knew that Loki had the capacity to learn that lesson. For a fleeting moment in the Dark World, he had seen the man he once knew glimmering in those emerald eyes. It offered such a small opportunity, and many might say not even that, but it was enough for him. And by the Allfather, he was determined to make Loki see it!

Suddenly, Thor snapped out of his chair, rounding the table to stare Loki in the eye. However, the Jotunn kept his gaze pinned to the wall, looking straight through the warrior as if he were nothing but air.

"You are my brother. In your heart, you must know it is true. All the battles, Loki, all the blood lost, all the adventures shared, do they mean nothing to you?" He was met with silence. "Look at me!" Thor smashed his hand onto the table, causing the whole thing to shudder and Loki to finally focus on him.

"_You are my brother_." Was said with such pained conviction that Loki dipped his head back down, cowed.

"No." He replied, much more weakly, but Thor was already out the door, his angry strides taking him halfway down the hallway before Loki was once again closed in.

He barely had enough time to compose himself before the door swooshed back open and an agent slunk in. Loki flicked his gaze over her. His nursemaid was the epitome of plainness. Agent Doter was of average height, had dirty blond hair and watery blue eyes and could only be called passably attractive. And though she was slim enough, she wasn't even granted the privilege of wearing the streamlined suit that other female agents wore. Instead, she had on a bland, navy shirt and pants combo with a S.H.I.E.L.D. logo scrappily patched onto the sleeve. All in all, she screamed 'underling'.

Giving a mere minion power over such a supposedly dangerous enemy was just insulting. Loki furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes, a bit of the former flash and life glinting through. The agent gamely ignored the killing glare and stepped forward.

"Er…hello," she raised a hand and wiggled her fingers, "I'm Agent Fran Doter. I'll be with you for your time here at S.H.I.E.L.D." When she got no response she continued, "I'm supposed to take you to your room now."

Loki glared at her, hunkered back into his chair for a moment, then let an angry breath out through his nose and stumbled up. He leaned heavily against the table for a moment and then shoved himself forward.

"Uh…" The agent floundered, looking between him and the packet on the table. Finally, she threw herself across the glass, swiped the manila folder, and hurried to catch her charge.

As they twisted their way through the massive ship, it was clear that Loki's strength was beginning to flag. Fran slowed down, hoping he would accept the gesture without his pride being piqued, but he stubbornly pushed onward. Finally, about two floors away from his room, he caught his foot on a crack in the floor grating and, balance gone, sagged against the wall with a grunt. When it became clear that he couldn't stand back up on his own and, in fact, planned to stay there angrily trying to simmer a hole through the metal he was leaning on, Fran spoke up,

"I know you don't want any help, but I've got to get you to your room, okay?" She paused and then slowly reached for his arm. She didn't get more than a couple inches towards her goal before the prince roughly swatted her hands away, almost backhanding her in the process.

"Don't touch me."

Fran gave him a long look, and then said, "It's either I help you or I call Director Fury. And do you know who _he'll_ call? Agent Romanov or Agent Barton. Or both."

Loki chuckled, "You, threatening _me_?" He sneered at her and then growled, "Do it. Call them. What has it been, ten minutes since you started looking after me?"

But the agent refused to rise to the bait. She shook her head and then pulled a phone from her pants pocket.

"One last chance, Mr. Laufeyson." She said calmly, almost kindly. "Please, just let me help you. We're almost to your room."

His reply was to spit at her feet.

Fran backed away, rubbed at her forehead, and then stabbed the dial button. Fury picked up within two rings.

"Agent Doter. What's happened?" His tone was laden with sarcastic frustration. Clearly, he had been expecting his star detainee to try something, even this soon.

"Mr. Laufeyson's collapsed in the west D hallway and he's refusing assistance."

A pause and then, "I see. Thank you for informing me, Doter. I'll send Agent Barton over there to assist. Are you by the cafeteria?"

"No." Fran looked around. "Well, we're about two blocks down and around the corner."

"Alright. Try to keep him contained until the Hawk gets there."

"Yes sir."

The line went dead and Fran slipped the phone back into her pocket, then she reluctantly turned her attention back to her charge. He had slid all the way down to the floor and was sprawled in a panting, glaring, heap. The agent backed all the way against the opposite wall and settled into tense silence.

Soon, the forceful stomp of boots could be heard and then Hawkeye came striding around the corner, his trademark weapon slung over a rather casual cargo pants and t-shirt ensemble. A pair of sports sunglasses were haphazardly perched atop his head and an ear bud was dangling from his ear. He must have been given orders to drop what he was doing and run, if the scowl on his face was anything to go by. However, as soon as he recognized Loki as the crumpled mess before him, a shit-eating grin spread across his face.

"Oh, ho ho ho ho. This just made my _year_." He closed the distance and towered over the shaking villain. "You look halfway dead. Why don't I help that along?"

He hefted one foot into Loki's stomach. There was a solid-sounding thud and then the Asgardian let out a choked, "_Oomph!_"

Clint reached down, grabbed hold of Loki's tunic, and hauled him up, slamming him against the wall so violently that the fabric ripped. He brought his fist back, preparing to strike, but two hands wrapped around his own.

"Agent Barton! _Stop_!" Fran desperately tried to tug his fist down.

Clint blinked at the agent as if trying to remember why she was there. "This bastard deserves death after all that he's done."

"He was judged and punished by his people."

"Well, that wasn't a god damn 'nough!" His arm was shaken free and a flurry of punches were thrown before Fran got another grip. Using her weight as leverage, she forced him to a shaky halt.

"Can't you see how much he's suffering? Please, Barton."

Clint finally looked at what we was holding onto. By this point, Loki's head was dangling back, eyes glazed, and he wasn't even trying to shield his twitching torso from any more blows. The Hawk let him go and he dropped to the floor heavily. Both agents winced when his skull hit the metal with a clang.

"He's been stripped of his magic," Fran said quietly. "How would you like it if someone wiped away your ability to use _that_?" She nodded her head at his bow and quiver. Clint's hand drifted up to his chest to grasp the quiver's nylon strap and for a moment, both were silent.

"I'd still like to kick his ass though."

Fran let out a relieved breath and threw up her hands. "Fine by me. In fact, it would be fun. Just wait until he can fight back, huh?"

He shot her a sour look but stepped back, shaking out the tension in his hands. The gesture seemed to declare the incident over for the soldier and they both reluctantly turned back to the lump on the floor.

"Agent Barton…"

"I have a feeling we're going to be seeing a lot of each other for the next while, so please, just Clint."

"In that case," The agent daintily thumped her chest, "Fran."

"Pleasure."

They shared a smile of professional camaraderie and then Fran turned her attention back to her charge.

"Clint, I think we should take him to the clinic." Fran bent down, rescued Loki's briefing packet from where it had been dropped, and then carefully slipped a hand between Loki's head and the metal grating.

"And have him harassing the medical staff?" Hawkeye snorted. "No way. We take him to his room and call a doctor if _absolutely necessary_."

"I…" With a grunt, the prince jerked his head away from her hand and shoved himself back into the wall. She sighed and frowned down at him. "Alright. Can you lift him by yourself?"

Clint gave a nod and then pounced, wrapping Loki's arm around his shoulder and hefting the man up. The prince made a few feeble attempts to free himself, but ultimately, in the face of a determined Fran and an unyielding Hawk, all he could do was hiss and act as dead weight as he was dragged up two floors, into his room and tossed onto the bed.

Clint was already halfway across the room before Loki had stopped bouncing. He watched with arms crossed as Fran struggled to get him to settle. It wasn't much of a fight - the trek across the ship and the beating sapped the last little bit of spunk the prince had left. Within minutes, he had passed out, much to the worry of his agent.

"I still think we should take him to the clinic."

"He's fine." Clint deadpanned. "The question is," he watched her flit nervously up to Loki, measuring the pulse at his neck, "are you?"

She finished her count, nodded, and then looked around the room.

"Oh gosh, yeah. I've just…" She spotted a comfy looking armchair in the corner, latched onto it, and started dragging. "gotta get this thing over by the door and I'll be good."

Clint shook his head and pried the piece of furniture from her, easily carting it the few feet needed. After he settled it in a nice, strategic position, as far away from Loki as one could possibly get in the small bedroom, he rounded on her.

"Fran…" he gave her a look.

"I know. And I'm fine. Really." She raised her hands exasperatedly. "Do you think the Director would have assigned me to him if he didn't think I'd be able to cope?"

"Alright." He said in a tone that carried a hint of mutinous skepticism towards his superior. "But call me if you need anything. Or Agent Romanov. We'd both be happy to help."

"Thank you. And thanks for…" she poked a thumb in Loki's direction.

"Uh huh. I practically punched his head in." He grinned cheekily and stepped out into the hall.

"But still, thanks." Fran shrugged.

"No problem." And with a wave, he was gone.

With a small smile, Fran stepped away from the closing door and did another sweep of the room. There were a few generic books piled on a table in the corner where she had tossed Loki's folder. Only twenty minutes in service and the poor thing was already a crumpled mess. And sometime during the chaos with Clint, it had gotten a mark from her shoe stamped directly across the S.H.I.E.L.D. crest. She made her way over, did her best to straighten the packet, then picked a book randomly and settled back down to wait.

Within an hour, Loki's face had flushed and his breathing had become ragged. The agent got up and tentatively pressed a hand to his forehead. It was warm, but not too bad. She pulled the covers over his shoulders, did her best to tuck him in, and then made her way into the tiny en-suite bathroom. Getting out the first-aid kit from underneath the sink, she took out a packet of acetaminophen and filled a glass of water. Going back over to the bed, she gently shook Loki until his eyes cracked open. Holding up the pills, she slowly stressed,

"You need to take these. They're medicine for your fever."

"No." Was all that was said.

"Mr. Laufeyson, I'm serious. If you actively let this get worse, it could become fatal."

Loki started laughing but it quickly turned into pained gasps. "Then…let me…die…you idiotic…human."

An expression of deep sorrow flickered across Fran's face and then it hardened. Her fists clenched till they turned white and the acetaminophen packet popped open from the pressure.

"I could, but I think it would be more fun to shove these pills down your throat."

"Try." Was petulantly spat.

For a second, it looked as though the agent would jump him, then she deflated. Her face gentled and her tone was unnervingly unflappable as she said,

"Okay."

She disappeared into the bathroom and came back out with a handful of ice packs and what looked like a plastic tissue container filled with water and washcloths. Ignoring Loki's growls, the agent cracked the ice packs and stuffed two in his armpits, one under his neck, and one under the covers on the thigh nearest her. Then she wrung out one of the washcloths plunked it on his forehead. Ignoring the whisper-soft and obviously involuntary moan of relief from the man, Fran snagged the bathroom wastebasket and set it next to the bed with a decisive thump. Task done, she settled back down to wait.

Loki, either too comfortable or too sick to start tossing ice packs around the room, drifted off within seconds.

Two hours later, the vomiting started. Fran already had the trashcan in front of the prince when he shot up in agony. He trembled and heaved for over an hour and then, as if someone had flipped a switch, it all stopped. Beyond rational thought, Loki curled under the covers in relief and to try to shelter himself from the ache in his back caused by all the muscle clenching. As the agent moved to take the trashcan into the bathroom, he weakly grasped the back of her shirt,

"Don't," he sighed brokenly.

Fran paused and then sat on the edge of the bed. She let him slip his hand around her wrist and watched as he drifted back to sleep. Once she was sure he was out, her free hand slid into her pocket. There were no more ice packs and the cool water was practically useless against the fever that had been steadily climbing. At this point, giving him acetaminophen was laughable, even though he'd probably down it without incident. Her finger hovered over the button that would connect her to the clinic.

And then Loki rolled away from her, weakly tugging her arm with him.

Fran stilled, shut her eyes and took a deep breath. When she let it out, she sagged, as if she were doomed, and than twisted herself into a more comfortable position.

This was a bad, _bad _idea. He should be taken to the clinic where he would be poked and prodded and most likely react like a threatened cobra, but monitored and cared for. It was not good to show him such kindness, give him this much leverage on her. But she was going to do it anyways. Her hand came out of the pocket and tentatively started rubbing his back.

It took quite a while to finally get him to relax enough to let go of her but once free, the agent carefully shifted herself off the bed and marched out the door. When she barreled back into the room ten minutes later, there were two huge trash bags full of ice slung over her shoulders. She went straight into the bathroom with her load and dumped one immediately into the bathtub, spreading it out and packing it down so it filled the bottom neatly. Then she powered back into the bedroom, screeching to a halt when she reached the side of the bed. Girding herself for the breach of modesty, she hesitantly reached for the covers. There was no good way to do this, though she hoped that her charge was out of it enough not to realize exactly what was about to happen to him.

Whipping the covers off, Fran deftly scooped an arm under his shoulders and dragged him off the bed, her other arm keeping his torso as steady as possible. She managed to get him into the bathroom without waking him up and though the agent was alarmed that he was so far gone, she was also relieved to avoid any fuss. He settled into the tub with an unconscious whimper. It was a tight fit – his lanky body barely crammed into the space and by the time the agent managed to tuck his legs in, the ice was already melting. She quickly dumped the other bag on him, making such a huge pile of ice chips that all she could see was his head where it rested awkwardly against the tile wall. After gently taking his temperature and getting rid of the garbage bags, she perched herself the toilet and prayed that her charge would be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

At ten o'clock, exactly, there was a knock on the door. Fran reluctantly poked her head out into the hallway. As she expected, there were two beefy agents standing there expectantly.

"Oh, hello." She smiled up at them. They looked back stoically and fingered their assault rifles.

"We're your replacements for the evening, mam."

"Sorry to say, but you're not really needed tonight. He's, kinda feeling under the weather, so I figured I'd stay and monitor him." She pointed vaguely behind her. Through the door, which Fran had been holding open, they spied a lump under the covers. They glanced at each other nervously and then the shorter of the two gave a slight shake of the head. He turned back to her and said,

"If you want to spend your off time with _that_,go right ahead, but we're still staying."

Fran frowned, but didn't say anything as they took their assigned places on either side of the door and fell into the classic at ease position. At least for tonight, they would be an inconvenience, but she was almost positive that the agents wouldn't ever bother to go into the room unless they heard something suspicious. She shrugged and let the door close. As she made her way back into the bathroom, she mussed up her decoy villain a little more, making sure that the covers concealed the Loki-shaped pillows from anyone that came in through the doorway.

In the hours that he had been 'chilling,' Loki had at least stabilized. His fever was still very high, but he wasn't getting any worse. Every so often, Fran scooped more of the melting ice on top of him, but that was all she had to do. He wasn't moving except to breathe and every so often crack a fever-crazed eye open. Her talk with the agents, as brief and quiet as it was, must have woken him up again, since when she went back into the bathroom his head was lolling around weakly and an arm had escaped the tub, draping down to make a giant puddle on the floor.

"Oh, Loki…" She muttered exasperatedly, but when she turned to swipe a towel from the sink, the corner of her mouth tweaked upwards. Loki blearily shifted his head towards her and then closed his eyes. She plonked his arm back into the tub, wiped everything up, and knelt to sift more ice onto him. Almost half of it had already melted, surrounding him with little ice chip icebergs that bobbled into his clothes and his hair. Fran didn't know how he accomplished it, but even out of his mind with sickness and crammed into a bathtub, he managed to avoid looking like a drowned cat. Instead, his raven locks dipped into the water and framed his face beautifully, floating gently on the miniature current stirred by his breathing. His clothes weren't bubbling up awkwardly, either. Oh, no. They had molded to his body, the green deepening to a rich emerald that caught the light and reflected against the porcelain of the tub and the black turning the surrounding water and ice into a miniature arctic ocean at night. All in all, he looked regal, arrogant, and oh so pretty.

It just wasn't fair. Not at all.

Finished with her task, Fran reached down, tweaked a particularly rebellious bit of his hair, and then pressed a hand to his forehead. Expecting it to be boiling, she was pleasantly surprised that it actually seemed cooler. When she saw the results of a hurried temperature check, she was ecstatic. His fever had broke!

She plopped herself back onto the toilet in relief and buried her face into her hands. As she sagged against the edge of the counter, there was a commotion in the hallway. She jerked her head up and craned around the half-closed door to look. When Thor burst into the room and headed towards the bed, she dove out of the bathroom, throwing herself between the Asgardian and his target.

"Hello, Mr. Odinson." She gave him a big smile and then waved jauntily to the gaping guards as the door slid closed on them.

"Thor, Lady Fran! I have told you to call me Thor!" He smiled at her panicked look, clapped a hand on her shoulder, and then swiveled around her towards the covers.

"Mr…Thor…_No_!"

But it was too late, Thor had pulled the comforter back just enough to reveal, not his brother's head, but a plump, white pillow. In an instant, the sheets were all ripped off. The prince stared at the faux-Loki, fabric dangling from a clenched hand. Slowly, he turned to the agent, his face twisted into a deadly glower, and ground out in a voice that many an enemy had heard right before they got their head smashed in by his hammer,

"_Where is he?_"

Without taking her eyes off of him, Fran pointed towards the bathroom. He dropped the sheets and stormed inside. As quickly as she could, the agent tossed the comforter back over the pillows and then followed. Thor was kneeling on the floor, one pale, dripping hand clenched in both of his.

"What has happened to my brother?"

"When I got him to the room he was already weak, but he just kept getting worse." Fran took a shuddering breath and then sagged against the doorframe. "I'm sorry. This was the only thing I could think of. I should have had him taken to the clinic, but…I just…he would have _hated_ it."

Thor stroked Loki's forehead and then stilled. He couldn't remember the last time his brother had been sick. He couldn't remember if Loki had _ever_ gotten sick. To see him so completely helpless terrified the hero. How bad was his illness that it had reduced his prickly, prideful brother to such a point that he didn't even recognize him? He wanted to haul him up and cart him to this Midgardian 'clinic' as fast as he could, but he agreed with the agent. In fact, she had done _exactly_ what he supposed Loki would have done if he were aware enough. His damned idiot of a brother would rather die than get handled by Midgardians. If his experience in New Mexico had taught him anything, it was that being treated by their healers was not a pleasant experience. Would they strap him down and then feed tubes into his skin? Keep him forcibly drugged? Most probably. He tuned back in just in time to hear the agent say,

"But his fever's finally broke. I just checked his temperature before you came in. So he's doing better…" A pause. "I'm am _really_ sorry about this. I…"

"No, Lady Fran. It might not have been the best thing to do for his health, but you showed my brother a kindness. He would not have wanted to go to your clinic."

"Oh." Was all she had to say.

They lapsed into silence, both unsure of what to do. Finally,

"You said he was improving?"

"Yes. I think in about an hour or so, he can come out of the tub." Fran slowly skirted her way around the blond mountain of muscle and reclaimed her seat on the toilet, stretching forward to carefully place a hand on Loki's forehead. Even in the minutes since she last checked, it had grown substantially cooler. It seemed as though this bit of sickness was to go the same route as the vomiting – hitting fast and disappearing almost as rapidly.

"I still do not understand how Loki has gotten so ill." Thor's nostrils flared in frustration and he twitched his head violently to the side as if giving himself a mental slap, "When we left Asgard he was weak, but…" He trailed off. Finally The agent picked up,

"And why was he weak, Thor?" For the tiniest instant, unnoticed by the superhero, her lip curled back into the echo of a snarl. Her words, however, remained politely concerned.

"As part of his sentence, our father stripped him of his magic, but he couldn't have known this would happen. No, he wouldn't have let us leave so soon if he had known…" He slipped Loki's hand back into the water, the resulting splash echoing into condemning silence. A slender hand fluttered over and then settled onto his upper arm.

"I'm sure he didn't realize. Unless our intelligence department is dropping the ball, Odin doesn't seem like the type to do something so awful to his son."

To many, Thor of Asgard might have been a tower of muscle and might driven by a huge heart and not much more. In fact, Fran knew that a good forty percent of the agents referred to him in terms of 'all brawn, no brains.' But the weighing, thoughtful look and the steely poise that pushed back pain were early signs of a very astute ruler. He put a still-soggy paw over her hand and then stood, pulling her with him. He tugged them out of the bathroom and sat them on the edge of the bed, mindful to keep a direct line of sight to the Jotun.

"You do realize we can't tell anyone about this, right?" Fran turned a pleading expression on the God of Thunder. He turned from his bathtub vigil to raise his eyebrows at her.

"You did a noble thing, Lady Fran. It is not something to hide."

So, not _quite_ ready to rule, then.

"Thor…"She sighed, "I believe I _did_, at some point, tell you to call me just Fran. And yes, it _is_ something to hide. Even if you told only Fury, in the strictest confidence, what I did, he'd know how weak Loki was. _And_ I'd probably get in trouble for not taking him to the clinic. I really don't want to get into what might happen if you tell anyone else."

"What has been done is done. And as for Fury, I am responsible for my brother. If I do not take offense at your actions, he should not, either."

"Subtlety, Thor. It's called subtlety." Fran stared him down until he caved with a rough,

"Aye."

An hour later, Fran undid pillow Loki and Thor hauled his brother out of the bathtub, stripped him down, and settled him into bed. He paused in front of the agent, who had hunkered back down in her chair.

"He will not have any memory of this, will he?"

"If we're lucky, no." She snorted.

"And you are sure…?"

"Yup." She sank into her chair as if he'd try and cart her off to Fury right then and there and eyed him balefully. Thor just gave her a weak smile and, in what was becoming the standard greeting, in Fran's opinion, patted her on the shoulder.

"Take care, then, Fran. And get some rest."

Finally! A name breakthrough!

"Aw, I will. You, too, big guy."

After Thor was gone, Fran kicked back and propped a book on her tummy, settling herself in for a long wait.

* * *

Loki was naked. He was in a strange bed and he was naked. He immediately reached for a spell, but found a nothing at all. It was as if his body had rejected the very idea of magic. Paths that had been carved years ago had been smoothed and power cleansed so that his mind, his soul, was veritably virginal. The knowhow was burning away in there, but the execution just…._couldn't_.

'_Oh. Oh, damn.'_

He cracked an eye open and spied his nursemaid, oh-so-innocently asleep in a chair across the room. If he couldn't have magic first thing in the morning, then at least he could have a strangulation. He launched himself out of bed only to crash to the floor.

This, in turn, woke up Fran who jumped to attention, book rocketing off her chest. It only took two seconds of growling from around the bed to figure out what happened. She slowly walked over, making sure to stop well out of grabbing range. He made quite a sight, back ramrod straight, hands flexing at her throat, covers pooling over him. It took five minutes of cursing in around twenty languages and some failed swipes before his eyes stopped spitting green fire and he sulked back into the mattress.

"Are you done with your hissy fit, Mr. Laufeyson?" Her question came out in a concerned, detached way, without a hint of ill will.

Loki Looked like was about to pop a gasket.

"Before you explode – no, you are not naked; you have pants on."

Loki quickly peeked under the sheets. He did, indeed, have trousers on. He plucked at the waistband experimentally. They were stretchy.

"They're called sweats. And you changed yourself since you managed to sweat through the stuff you had on. You were pretty out of it last night."

The prince's nostrils flared as if he had gotten a whiff of a particularly potent lie and his lip curled into a snarl. "A fever and nausea do _not_ merit memory loss. _What did you do_?"

Fran sheepishly shifted from one foot to another and then very slowly, "Mr. Laufeyson, I didn't do anything. _You changed yourself_. You practically bit my hand off when I tried to help."

With a snort, Loki struggled back onto the bed, ignoring the agent's calm offers to help. He couldn't have been that sick, could he? Was the idiot agent kindhearted enough to keep him, dreaded villain extraordinaire, from death? No. He'd much rather believe he'd been drugged. It was the more plausible explanation, after all. Knock him out while he was weak and…do things. And it would explain why he was feeling so much better. There was no possible way to rebound from such a sickness so quickly.

"Did they tag me somehow, or take samples?"

Like the agent would tell on her own people. And sure enough, she spluttered,

"Huh?"

"What did they do to me while I was out? Tell me, agent."

"Mr. Laufeyson, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh…!"

Politely plowing over him, she asked, "Now, do you want to take a shower before breakfast?"

And without further ado, she ripped the covers off of him, threw them on the floor, and traipsed into the bathroom.

"I'm leaving some towels and a change of clothes on the sink. Any toiletries you find are yours." Came floating out of the open door. When she came out to rummage in his closet, Loki watched her like a hawk surveying a particularly juicy mouse.

"You're evil underneath all that sweetness. Positively evil."

Settling on a nice pair of slacks and a black t-shirt, she turned to him in exasperation, "Mr. Laufeyson, I don't particularly like being forceful, but sometimes it's necessary to do my job. So please, just get in the bathroom."

Twenty minutes later, Fran and a freshly scrubbed Loki were sitting at a corner table in the cafeteria. The agent was happily munching on pancakes while her charge glared at passerby and stabbed his eggs to death.

"You sure you don't want to eat any more?" Fran eyed his half eaten toast while shoving a loaded, syrupy forkful in her mouth.

"No, you damned woman. You dragged me here, isn't that enough? Leave me be."

"Okay." A hand reached over and snatched his unopened fruit cup and milk. He twitched at the sight of his leftovers being carted off into enemy territory and moved to grab them back. Fran held them to her chest and jerked out of his reach.

"You said you were done!"

"I didn't say you could snatch the food from my plate!" He managed to wrangle the milk carton from her and stood. Quickly seizing his tray, he wobbled over to the bin he had seen other agents dump their trash in and pitched in the whole thing – tray, silverware and all. When he came back, Fran was pouting.

"Aw. That was a waste!" She turned towards the door and then started waving frantically, "Hey, Thor! Over here!"

The hero immediately rerouted towards their table, frowning at his brother, who started resolutely trying to rub a spot of dirt off the table.

"No cape today, I see." He was dressed in dark leather pants and a form fitting tank top, both shining with patches of silver plating. Fran got up and graciously offered him her seat. "Would you mind looking after him for a second?"

She left before he could answer. The Asgardian slowly sat down and watched in confusion as she dove into a trashcan.

"What…?" Fran pulled out a fork and gingerly placed it onto the stack of used trays above her. Thor crossed his arms and scowled at his brother. "Loki! Did you do that?"

He was ignored in favor of the dirt.

"_Loki_! Regardless of your situation, you have no right to be rude." He reached over and covered the spot. Loki curled his hand into a fist and slammed it into the table. "Fran is trying to help."

"_Fran_? When did you two get so chummy?" Loki finally looked up, his frosty stare freezing his poor brother into place. As adept as he was at reading the blond behemoth, he could see that Thor was definitely hiding something. "So you were in on it, too, eh? What did they do while I was out? Stick me with something? Brand me in some way that I cannot see?"

"What in the worlds are you talking about?" Thor finally managed to drag his gaze away, only condemning himself further.

"Something went on last night. There is no way I would change myself without remembering."

Loki could see Thor cave. He shrugged with an air of 'the jig is up' and said, "I guess she…"

A mountain of food was tossed between them, another tray sliding swiftly after.

"Damn it, you…!" An apple plugged Loki's howling.

"Eat up, Thor! Oh, and I washed my hands, so don't worry!" With impressive speed, she caught the furiously hurled apple before it reached her head and sat herself down next to the Asgardian.

Loki, too incensed to speak, pilfered his brother's spoon and grabbed the fruit cup from in front of Fran. He watched as Thor plowed his way through pounds of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. It took the giant less than ten minutes to consume a third of his weight in food. It was a sight the villain was quite used to and once the fruit cup was polished off he sat, arms crossed, fingers drumming against bicep, as he dodged flying hash browns with the least movement possible.

The agent was staring in wide-eyed wonder at the utterly clean pile of plates that had been amassed. Loki pounced on her astonishment,

"So, what exactly happened last night?"

His pleasant tone drifted over to Fran and she murmured, "Absolutely nothing, Mr. Laufeyson."

Loki bent his spoon in half.

With the last plate cleared, Thor heaved himself up, gathered his mess, and bowed politely to the agent. "Thank you, Fran. I now must go to a meeting of the Avengers, but I will stop by my brother's room later."

"A meeting? Is everything okay?"

"It is something to do with a boat being sunk in…New York, was it? I do not know more than that."

"Oh. Thanks, Thor." With a smile, Fran let him go. However, Loki could clearly see the worry she was trying desperately to hide.


End file.
